Pity Only The Victor
by AlinaLotus
Summary: If there's one thing she can't stand, it's Arwen's pity. Third part to But I Have Fallen.


**Warnings are some sexual content, and I know it's OOC for Arwen. **

**Obviously this is AU, the third part of But I Have Fallen, but it can be read separately as well, I think. Anyway, enjoy. **

It takes all of her strength to stand here, still and quiet with a mask of happiness on her face. She would rather be back home, in her Golden Hall with the sharp, cold, bitter (like her eyes-_like Arwen's eyes_) wind at her face and at her back, than stand here while Aragorn and Arwen are bound in matrimony.

But it's more than Aragorn marrying somebody who isn't her, more than the elf who is beautiful and exquisite in ways she can't hardly understand--it's Arwen looking down on her with, if only for a second, a softened gaze.

If there's one thing she can't stand, it's Arwen's pity.

The elf (Queen, now, and the words, _Queen Arwen _leave a bad taste in her mouth, like moldy bread or flat ale) knows what she has won, and what Eowyn has lost.

(Eowyn tries not to be sick as Aragorn passes over her, won't even look her in the face)

---

Finally they are pronounced to be married, and the crowds disperse into the castle, where food, drink and merriment await. Eowyn flees from Faramir and Eomer, claiming to be a bit tipsy and in need of fresh air, though her tankard is quite untouched. They look after her, worried, but she spares them no backwards glance and they feel it is best to leave her be, for now.

She stands near the edge, against the heavy railing, and tries not to think how easy it would be (like floating or flying) to jump, to end it all and never be alone or scared again. But those kind of thoughts only remind her that in death she is without Aragorn, and at least here, in this existence cursed as it may be, he still breathes, he still _is_.

Her peace doesn't last long, and she stiffens as her name is called. She turns, bowing, not wanting to meet the eyes of her new queen.

"The festivities should appeal to you, Eowyn, why do you not join your brother?"

"I was feeling a bit ill, your majesty, but I am better now, with the fresh air." Eowyn says, her teeth clenched, and she almost chokes over the words _your majesty._

"Why do you despair?" Arwen's voice was deep and aged, regal in its pronouncement.

"Mordor is too close," Eowyn replies, gesturing towards the razor mountains off in the distance.

"But the ring is destroyed and the Dark Lord too, is that not enough to feel secure? What more can you ask for?"

Eowyn bites the inside of her cheek, keeping her words in check. Arwen is no longer just another elf, the daughter of Elrond and the Lady of Imladris, she is now the Queen of men, the wife of King Aragorn.

"It unsettles me, is all, my lady." Eowyn replies, pushing herself from the stone railing, ready to back away and never look Arwen in the face again.

"I do not understand you, horse child. You are brash and impudent and there are many who find you fair and courageous (_but I am not one of them_, her eyes say), and yet you always seek what you cannot have, what is above you and beyond you."

Eowyn whirls around. She may not have the wisdom of ages past, but she is no fool and she knows precisely what _Queen Arwen _is speaking of. "And what would you have me do? Would you have me forget my love, forget my passion? Would you have me never remember my own battles, so you can sleep soundly and softly in your marriage bed?"

"I did not mean-" Arwen begins, but Eowyn's tongue has loosened and she will not let this elf speak above her. She knows this will probably be the only chance she gets to speak her heart.

"I loved him when you could not, when you weren't even in the same land as him! I gave him hope, I gave him the chance at another life, and yet it's taken away from me because you did not follow your own fate, she-elf!"

Arwen reels back, as though Eowyn slapped her. She has never been spoken to like this before, much less by a human who does not, truly, belong in her kingdom.

"I pity you," Arwen says, regaining herself after a stiff moment, "because you do not know the depth of our connection, and even more so because you thought that connection could ever be broken. But there is still hope for you, child,"

"I'm not a child! I am a woman, I am the leader of my people, not a selfish, witless brat like you seem to think!"

"And yet you act like a child who has had their morning milk taken from them."

"Arwen."

Eowyn squeezes her eyes shut as a wave of pain hits her, because even the sound of Aragorn's voice causes her to burn.

"I take my leave, my lady. Your majesty." Eowyn bows to Aragorn, but he reaches out, putting a hand in front of her to stop her, but he is careful not to touch her. He seems to know that she is close to shattering, that his fingers against any part of her would surely do the trick, and he always was kind.

"I wish to speak with you, if I may."

Arwen silently retreats back into the castle, pausing only once to look back at her husband. They are alone, now.

"Eowyn..." Aragorn says, and it is the same tone and way he used that night long ago, before he left for the mountain path that lead him to the undead army.

"I am sorry, sire. I should not have said such things to her." Eowyn can't look at him--he is too brilliant, too bright, like the sun that reflects off the white stones of the citadel.

"I told you then, Eowyn, that I cannot give you what you seek. Those words were spoken with truth, and I will not take them back."

Eowyn pushes the golden hair from her face, and does not meet Aragorn's eye, instead following the strands of his hair as the slight breeze whips it around his head. "You are what I seek. Do you not know that?"

"I am married now, Eowyn. She is my wife, she will be the mother of my offspring. _I cannot give you what you seek_."

"Believe me, I know that. I know it better than you, better than anyone."

"Will you not forgive me? Forgive her? Our paths were never meant to cross in such a way. It was always meant to be me and Arwen Undomiel."

"Then why are you here with me? Why do your eyes lust for me?" They are bold words, but Eowyn knows when a man hungers for a woman, and Aragorn's eyes are dark and starving and pleading, and maybe it is more regret and sorrow than anything else, but still she hopes that he loves her, in some way.

"You were so wanting, then, in Edoras, Aragorn...so passionate! Did that mean nothing, did I mean nothing?" She knows that when you ask these types of questions you had best be prepared for the answers, but she has already suffered so much, and there is little more confirmation than Aragorn vowing his life and his eternal love to another, but she wants to hear the words from his mouth, watch his lips and his eyes when he all but bans her from him presence.

Aragorn passes his fingers over his eyes, and he reaches up and removes his mithril crown, placing it on the stone railing. "_Eowyn_." He whispers, and his voice is fraught with peril and pain and indecision, but then he reaches out for her, pulling her to him. Their bodies are pressed together, and Eowyn gasps at the sensation that she has missed so dearly. Faramir has tried, so desperately, to fill the void that Aragorn leaves in her life, but there is nothing like the real thing, like the exact pulsing and pounding addiction of the Ranger being satisfied.

"Please," Eowyn pleads, and Aragorn looks at her with those eyes again, the eyes that so long ago, it seems, begged her to leave him alone, because he was not strong enough to withstand her, and they are locked in this moment of adultery and perverse deceit, but Eowyn will take anything she can get, and she's long since been used to being the other woman.

He lifts her, turning around and pressing her into the balustrade, while she unties the leather straps of his pants, and then he is reaching up her dress, pulling her skirt up and over her hips.

Eowyn wraps her legs around him, and his length, already erect and waiting for her, slips into her, and Eowyn moans as he fills her. They are such a perfect fit, him and her, and she refuses to believe that this will be the last time that he is inside of her, a part of her.

"I love you, my King." She whispers, and she doesn't expect a reply.

---

_How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand, there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold._

A week after making love to her, Aragorn disappears with his Queen for a visit to Rivendell. He tells only his closest servants where he is going, but Legolas gets word of his companion's leave. He is a kind elf, untouched by love as of yet, but he recognizes what Eowyn is feeling, even if he can't empathize.

"I'm sorry, my lady." He says, and Eowyn swallows, clenches her jaw against the tears. They have been falling too freely these past few days.

"Did he...did he say when he'll return?" Faramir and Eomer have been wishing to depart for days now, to return to Edoras, but Eowyn has been stalling them on the foolish hope that Aragorn will call for her again, need her in some way.

Legolas shook his head. "No. I...I think it is best for you to depart here. Return to your own country. Seek happiness there."

But he is a smart elf, wise, and he knows that for Eowyn, there is no happiness without Aragorn. He smiles at her, and she tries to return with her own, to thank him for his friendliness, but the grin doesn't quite reach her sad eyes.

She thanks him, and knows that she can only do what he says--return to Rohan with her brother and her supposed lover, maybe marry Faramir, have children. Become Queen.

The future ahead is so dank and devoid of color, like windswept hills in the dead of winter, but what else can she do? Aragorn has no use for her, it is obvious. Her heart is bleeding, as it has been since the first day his arms surrounded her.

If there is a way to mend herself, she hasn't found it. But she hasn't looked very far, to be honest. She has been so foolish in hoping, so earnest in wishing, that she didn't heed his own words--he will not giver her what she seeks. He will not leave Arwen. He does not love her, Eowyn, enough to give her anything in return for the devotion she has thrust upon him.

"Eowyn?" Faramir is at the door of the chamber. Her name is warm rolling off his tongue, like he enjoys the taste of it. Eowyn sighs, looks at Legolas who gestures towards the door, and gives a curt nod.

Sometimes, you have to love what's good for you, give that love time to heal you. If anybody is up to the task, it's the man with kind eyes and strong arms that are full of promises.

Because unlike Aragorn, Faramir will keep his promises to her.

**I may keep going with this, contributing bits and pieces, so if it's something you enjoy put me on author alert. Thanks for reading!**


End file.
